This Is No Ordinary Case
by hetaliafan101
Summary: A creature believed to be extinct resurfaces in Santa Barbara. Retired police detective and former hunter Henry Spencer and the Winchesters will have to team up along with other allies to put an end to this new threat before it gets out of hand. Featuring Hunter!Henry, slight Destiel, and Shassie or Shules, depending on which way you want to squint.
1. Chapter 1

Henry Spencer had a secret, one that none of his coworkers, not his ex-wife, not even his son, knew about. He had carried it with him from his teenage days.

Henry was once a hunter.

When he was sixteen, he was driving Ellie, his first girlfriend, to see a movie. They had to stop on the silent highway, however, because the car was out of gas. He had barely reached for the spare canister in the trunk when it happened.

A man was walking down the road towards the car. Henry barely took notice; what was so strange about a hitch-hiker, anyway? Well, nothing was strange about him until he saw his eyes. The whites, at least what wasn't blood shot, were tinted almost yellow, kind of like the colour of the ceiling of a long-time tobacco smoker's house.

_Ok, so the man's drunk. _He was scrawny enough, he figured he could easily take him out if necessary. It wasn't until the stranger was beside the car did he see the smile, which even to this day made his blood run cold.

He had _fangs._

The rest was like a bad slow-motion movie. The man clamped his teeth around Ellie's neck, barely giving her enough time to scream. Henry rushed to put the guy's lights out, but he was just too _strong_. One flick of the wrist sent him flying. He was sure that they both would have died that night if it hadn't been for the other man who came running, wielding a machete. A single fluid motion severed the attacker's head from his shoulders.

All Henry could do was stand in shock, staring dumbly at his saviour. _Ellie,_ his mind yelled, and he snapped out of the trance, running to see her. Blood covered the white passenger seat, while more poured out of a large bite wound in her neck.

The man, Jamie, he said his name was, explained what happened, his words falling on deaf ears. He then urged him to move.

"Why?" He asked, still numb.

"Because she's been bit. When she wakes up, she'll be turned, and she'll feed. I can't let that happen."

Henry tried to protest, but couldn't find the words. Instead, he just turned his head away in dumbstruck obedience.

After it was done, Jamie had to knock him out and drag him off; he was less likely to be charged for murder if he had been unconscious the entire time. Plus Jamie had a hunter friend in the police department, so he could easily cover his tracks. When Henry came to, he was in the hospital.

Ever since then, he had been learning more and more about the things that went bump in the night. Vampires, werewolves, simple salt-and-burns, these and more he became familiar with, and hunted them out once he was old enough to leave his parents' house. Though he had hunted some through the past years; his last "hunt" being when he tracked a rugaru with Ellen Harvelle five years before, he had officially retired from hunting when he met the woman who would become his wife. After he got settled, and Shawn was born, he put away his salt rounds and steel knives, and got a job with the Santa Barbara Police Station, ironically enough. Even though it had been years since he got out of the life, he still felt the urge to get into action again when strange deaths were broadcast over the news. Instead, he would call up some acquaintances he made on the job, and let them handle it.

The only time he ever picked up his salt round shot gun and silver knife these days was when something paranormal found it way to Santa Barbara. This was his town now, damn it. He wasn't having some _thing_ chowing down on his neighbours, and most definitely not his son. He often worried that Shawn's growing reputation as a police psychic would someday draw in a supernatural being, curious and possibly pissed off about the supposed mystic.

He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. He tried to distract his mind, made himself a coffee, and sat down to read the newspaper.

_**"Strange Deaths of Factory Workers Leave Santa Barbara Police** **Baffled"**_

_Tell me this isn't..._

Henry read on.

_"The light fixtures and windows within a fifty foot radius were shattered. All victims were reported dead on scene. Police are currently withholding names and any additional information from the public media."_

Henry tossed the paper aside and put his head in his hands.

Something had found its way to Santa Barbara.

Henry stood and paced over to the phone. Information might be withheld from the general public, but he had ways of getting the details he needed. One of the many things his time with Jamie, who had mentored him for a time, had taught him was that it was always good to have contacts within the law enforcement, and it just so happened that he made one. James Winters, an officer who almost became monster dinner around the time of Henry's divorce, would be able to give him more details. Henry decided to call his private cell; this conversation was one that should not be monitored.

"What's up?" He answered after a few rings.

"Hello, James." He replied simply.

"Hiya, Henry. I was wondering when you would call. I didn't wanna call you 'cause if someone saw me they'd raise a few eyebrows. I'm guessing you're looking for the low-down on the factory case?"

"You guessed right. What can you tell me?"

James proceeded to give Henry the details of the murders. The place reeked of sulphur, which indicated demon activity. He cringed. He had only ever dealt with one demon in his career, back before a Hell Gate was opened, according to other hunters. These things were crawling the Earth now, when before someone may have spotted five in a decade.

The next thing was had to be the strangest thing he had heard of yet. Many of the vics' eyes had been liquefied by heat, That part was explainable to a degree. It was the wings that freaked him out. James said that large sets of wings sprouted from underneath a handful of victims. They appeared to have been burned into the floor.

Once he took a moment to think, however, he recalled that his friend Bobby Singer had mentioned the confirmed existence of angels only a few years ago, when he had called Henry to ask if he knew anything of them. This could take a lot of research, but at least he knew were to start.

"Oh, and we did manage to salvage a bit of security footage. I made sure I was the only one to see it; we both know this isn't a thing for the police. I'm telling ya, though, you're not gonna like what you see."

_I never like what I see. _"Send it to me."

A few minutes later he brought up the email on his computer screen and clicked play. The tape was only about a minute and thirty seconds long, but it felt like a lifetime. At first it seemed to be a fight between demons and what he assumed were the angels. Soon, though, a new player on the field was evident. Henry watched these new creatures enter the battlefield and shook. From the corner of the screen he could see someone sneaking towards the door. _A survivor?_ He dared to hope.

Then one of the new creatures caught sight of her and...

He shut off the monitor in horror, hands shaking as his fingers fumbled for the button.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Bieber bashing ahead. You have been warned.

* * *

Sam was _finally_ allowed to drive, Dean being far too exhausted to focus on the road properly. Dean, in the meantime, was slouched in the passenger seat covering his ears with his jacket. Of all of the douchy, crappy music his poorly musically-educated brother chose to put on he _had _to blast the voice of some girl named Jessica-no, it was Justina Beaver or something like that. Whatever. Unfortunately for Dean, his brother decided to follow the rule concerning music in the car. _"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."_ This was the real reason why Sam wasn't allowed to drive on a regular basis.

"So, run it by me again," he started, using the opportunity to turn the terrible "music"down, "why are we going to Santa's Barber shop?"

"That's _Santa Barbara._ I heard about this psychic guy, Shawn Spencer. He apparently works for the police and had a hand in solving a lot of murders that seemed unsolvable."

"So what, you wanna check him out, possibly share some rabbit food?" This comment earned Dean an ultimate Bitchface.

"I just thought it would be nice to have a psychic on speed dial, that's all, Jerk."

"If you say so, Bitch."

They drove through the city limits to see police cars gathered at a factory, the scene swarming with cops and reporters. They kept going; there was nothing to suggest that this was their type of gig.

Upon reaching the _Psych_ building, it immediately seemed too business-like, which may be normal to the average person. Being hunters, though, they noted it as strange. Pamela's place had a much more mystic feel to it, as did the quarters of every other legitimate psychic they had met. Her house also did not have a great big green sign pointing people - among other things - to her doorstep.

"Great. He's either stupid or a fake. I don't think I want either one on my speed dial," commented Dean as he straightened up in his seat.

"Maybe we should take a look anyway, just in case."

"Whatever."

They went through the door, and Sam walked into a...pie transporter?

"Ok, this guy might not be so bad." Dean reached out to the pie, but Sam smacked his hand away.

"Dude, you have no idea what's in that."

"Pineapple, actually. I can smell it."

Suddenly, a loud voice was heard from somewhere in the back. "Shawn, I am begging you. Sit this one out. I can't explain it but there is definitely something off about this case."

"Dad, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"The victims' eyes were burned out, for starters, and there's nothing to worry about? Shawn, you need to trust me on this. _Back. Out._ This is an entirely different gig than what you're used to."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. It appears that the scene at the factory had been their kind of thing after all. They left the office before anyone noticed they were there; if this police-psychic whoever he was met them as civilians, then their FBI cover wouldn't work out if he was a fake.

"So, what do you think? Angels?" asked Sam on their way back to the Impala.

"Probably, but why would they roast a factory full of workers?" said Dean as he got back in his seat while discreetly throwing Sam's terrible tunes in the back seat.

"Who knows? The planet didn't do anything to especially piss them off but they went for an Apocalypse anyway."

"The factory incident was unintended as far as I know." Dean turned to identify the voice's location to see that Cas had mojoed or flown or whatever himself into the car. He was sitting in the back seat, looking thoughtfully up at Dean.

"Hey, Cas. So if the angels didn't intentionally fry up some human eyeball extra crispy, how did we get a factory full of corpses?"

He thought for a moment, "From what I could tell upon visiting the factory, they were battling demons, and lost. The humans had simply been unfortunate enough to witness angels leaving their vessels, or they had been vessels for the demons that were slain."

The brothers exchanged worried looks. They knew from experience that if a handful of the Heavenly Host couldn't take on a few pesky demons, it usually meant that there was bound to be a shit storm in the near future.

"There was something else about the battle remains, however," Cas continued, "It seems that there had been no survivors on either side. Whatever happened in that factory killed everyone involved." He took a long breath, "I have an idea, but you won't like it."

* * *

Shawn sighed, trying to make his mother-hen of a father see reason. "Dad, you said yourself that there is always a reasonable explanation for everything. Why not let me find it?" When he got no response he continued, "It's not like I haven't had more dangerous cases before. It just so happens that this one is the weirdest one that either of us have seen. Once its broken down, we'll be left with some crazy pyschoes with imaginations." Henry opened his mouth to retort, but he cut him off. "You're not talking me out of this, Dad. End of discussion." He walked over to the wall and hit a switch. "I've got some pineapple pie. Want some?"

Henry sighed and nodded reluctantly, knowing that he was going to have to find some other way to keep Shawn off this case until he handled whatever was lurking in Santa Barbara.

Burying his face in his hands, he sighed. _Where__ do I even start?_

* * *

**A/N:** This one was a bit shorter but the next one makes up for it.


	3. Chapter 3

Shawn walked over to the wall to flip the switch so his pie transporter could bring the treat to him. He had it arranged so that he could sit in a nice comfy chair as he waited for the pie to come to him. Sometimes he was so smart it even amazed him.

He waited for a minute but the pie still didn't come. Sighing, he decided that it must have broken down again and that he would have to get it the hard way. His dad rolled his eyes at his whining when he moaned about having to walk all the way over there to get pie.

As he approached the pastry suspended in mid air, exactly where he had originally set it minutes before his dad showed up, his eyes locked onto a sliver of hair dangling off the edge of the pie tin. Frowning, he carefully picked it up and examined it. _A long brown hair_ he noted,_ Someone was here recently, but why wouldn't they stay and wait for me, or ring the bell?_ He noticed the bell button had no smudges since it had been polished in the morning, so it hadn't been rung and simply unheard.

"Something wrong?" Henry startled him slightly.

"Why would someone walk into a business place and turn back and leave?"

"They probably just got bored of waiting"

"I found a foreign hair hanging off the tin." He put his hand over the pie. "The pie is still hot from when I put it on the line. That was right before you got here. I wager that they weren't waiting more than five minutes. Besides, they didn't even ring the bell." He gestured to the untouched bell button.

Henry sighed. "Shawn, this is ridiculous. But if it makes you feel any better, you do have a surveillance camera in here you know." He pointed lazily to the corner of the ceiling.

"I'll worry about that later. Right now, the police psychic is needed at the factory."

Henry groaned inwardly as Shawn grabbed his coat and went out. He had briefly hoped that he would preoccupy himself with whoever was in the lobby and take his mind off of the case for a moment. Then again, it was an easy conclusion that they overheard the conversation and left. It might have kept him busy for all of two minutes.

_Overheard the conversation...I wonder..._

Henry walked to the back room and rewound the security tape. This factory business was a big case, after all, and barely any of it made sense. Perhaps hunters had come to see Shawn about it? It was possible; going by some of the things Shawn said about clients in the past it sounded like he'd unknowingly stumbled on at least half a dozen of them in the last couple of years. When they heard the conversation they probably left deciding Henry might persuade him from the case. Or thought he was fake. Probably both.

As he watched the screen, two men came in the front door; one was a giant with long hair, and the other a shorter, more handsome man. Though most wouldn't see it, there were small likenesses between them, suggesting that they were related, no farther away than first generation cousins. _Funny,_ he thought to himself, _I've seen those two somewhere before._

The camera had audio, so he was able to hear himself talking to Shawn, telling him to lay off the case. The two men looked at each other. It wasn't a "what the hell are they on about?" look, it was knowing one, a knowing he knew very well.

He switched to the outside camera to see them getting into a black Chevy Impala, which was also familiar. The audio didn't work well outside, but he could see their lips moving in the reflection of a store window. 99% of people in the world would have never noticed that in a surveillance camera, nevermind be able to tell what anyone was saying with it. But he was Henry Spencer, ex-hunter and retired police detective, the one who taught the so-called psychic of Santa Barbara everything he knew about detective work. A couple of rewatches and this was a cake walk.

He noted the mention of angels, confirming that they were in fact hunters. It didn't get really weird, however, until he saw a man appear in the back seat of the car. _A demon? Or angel,_ _maybe?_ He couldn't tell. John Winchester was the one that knew about demons, perhaps nothing on angels, though...

_...Winchester. The Winchester brothers. Sam and Dean Winchester. _His breath sharpened at the realization. They were the boys that were wanted across the country for fraud, armed robbery, assualt, and mass murder. And that was only a start. He remembered the video from that diner, taken on some poor kid's phone. If these men were hunters, it was likely they pissed off some shapeshifters, resulting in their wanted level. Although the fraud and other such crimes were no doubt their doing; a hunter needed funds after all, but unless the people in the banks and diner and everywhere else weren't human, it was unlikely that a hunter was responsible, especially if they were John's boys, as told by tell-tale traits visible in their features.

He closed the screen and got his coat. They would be on their way to the crime scene most likely, and while other officers might not have recognized them in the past, he knew Shawn wouldn't forget their faces from the news so quickly. Besides, even if they did go unnoticed by Shawn, someone else from the station would recognize them. An officer from Santa Barbara had supposedly been killed by the Winchesters, and he knew that it would not be forgotten so soon. _  
_

* * *

"Sam, why did you have to pick the motel with the crappiest water pressure Santa Barbara?" Dean wrapped himself in a towel as he stepped out of the shower, hair covered in shampoo. As they were walking from the car to the factory a bird decided that Dean's hair was just too perfect or something and left sticky gifts on his head, forcing them to turn back to the motel.

"The sink works better," Sam replied as he straightened his tie in the mirror.

Dean cursed as he bumped his head on the tap lowering it in the basin.

"I think this works better" came a gravely voice as Cas touched a finger on Dean's hair. Instantly it was clean and dry.

Dean cursed again, having jumped at Cas' touch. "Dammit, Cas, warn a guy next time." Dean pretended to not like the feel of his fingers in his hair.

"What good would it do if I told a person when I was going to dry your hair?"

"Cas-" He was cut off by a knock on the door. "We don't need anything in here."

"You do if you're the Winchesters," someone answered back.

The brothers exchanged a quick look at each other before leaping for angel blades and silver rounds, while Cas prepared to smite something if necessary. Cas opened the door with his Grace, letting the man in.

The three stared warily at him, an older looking man holding a silver knife. Before either of them could speak he drew it across his arm, then poured some salt into a glass of water and drank it, cringing at the taste. "Not a demon, not a monster. You can put the weapons down." Slowly the boys lowered their arms, but remained wary of the newly introduced hunter.

"What do you want with us?" asked Sam cautiously, "We're already on the factory case."

"I know. You came into the Psych building and I figured it out from there."

"Wait, so you're Shawn Spencer?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm Henry Spencer. Shawn's my son. And no, he's not an actual psychic. He just has a higher power of perception and an impeccable memory that makes it seem as if he is. Anyway, I recognized you from the news and just thought I'd warn you that you're going to get arrested if you try to question the police."

"So far we've been on the cop's wanted-for-murder list for about seven or eight years thanks to a shifter but we're still in the open," replied Sam. "Besides, if you're a hunter, wouldn't Shawn know not to get us arrested?"

"I retired before he was born, so he never grew up a hunter. He would handle the situation like any other detective would, like putting you under arrest or charging into a case that really doesn't benefit from his involvement."

The brothers gave him looks of surprise; from their experience, once someone found themselves in the life it would bring the future generations into it as well, a cycle that - until now - seemed impossible to break. The fact that Shawn was raised outside of the life made them a bit jealous.

"I also wanted to ask you something-" he rounded on Castiel "-what exactly are you?" The brothers were taken aback that Henry realized Cas wasn't human, but he merely replied with "My name is Castiel. I'm an Angel of the Lord."

Henry nodded with awe. "So it is true." He turned back to Dean and Sam, "so do you have any idea what this was? I went over and over it, but all I could get were demons - and apparently angels - having a fight."

Cas nodded. "You catch on quickly for someone who didn't know of our existence for certain. Yes, that is the gist of it, but it seems both parties were killed by something else."

"We have a theory, but since we apparently can't ask police for surveillance tapes, I really don't wanna go on it. Not without proof." Finished Dean.

"Actually, I have a contact in police department. He emailed me the surveillance, so if you have a computer I can show you."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Warning: Long chapter ahead.

* * *

Shawn arrived at the factory and paid the taxi fare. Approaching the doors he was surprised to see Gus gripping a trash can as though his life depended on it. "Yo Gus, what are you-" he was cut off as his friend barfed into the garbage. "Okay then, I guess I'll be seeing the blood spatter analyst today. I wonder how he's been doing, maybe we should hang out after the case-" Gus wretched again. "Seriously, man, it can't be that bad." Gus didn't reply, rather he gave him he "are you freaking kidding me right now?" stare. Shawn shrugged and went inside.

He took his jest back immediately. The room was littered with bodies that had been torn open in one way or another. Some were factory workers, but others didn't seem to belong there. The eldest person there was about eighty, the youngest a girl of twelve. He had been right about the blood spatter analyst; in fact there were five, but they seemed clueless. The range of mortal injuries was overwhelming; some had been killed with a single stab wound, other's had their eyes burned out. Some of them, though, had been ripped apart. If that wasn't weird enough, some of the bodies also sported injuries that should have killed them instantly, like a bullet in the head. They instead were found to have been killed by something else. In fact, these wounds appeared to be years old.

_What the hell..._ This must have been what his dad had meant. All of the mortal wounds could be explained with just a bit of proof, but the _other_ wounds... this was going to be hell.

"Shawn, there you are" Julie half ran towards him, taking care to walk around a victim in her way.

"Hey, Jules" greeted Shawn.

"This is the worst case I've ever been put on, for both body count and strangeness." she went on, "We've got a body count of thirty-two, and at least half of them are... wait why am I telling you all of this?"

"Because I'm just too cute for your mind to work properly, right?" He grinned.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'll let Vick know your here." She started walking away as Shawn looked around.

"Hey, where's Lassie?"

She turned back, her expression slightly grim. "Vick wouldn't let him on the case. A friend of his went missing a few months ago and..." she gestured toward a body in the corner "he turned up. Vick says he's too close to this case."

Shawn nodded, frowning slightly. It would have really lifted things up a little if he could torment his favourite detective a bit.

He started taking a better look at the bodies, observing through all five senses. He took a deep breath... only to choke on the smell of sulphur. How did he not notice that before? From where he was standing he could see that all of the stab wounds had been burned in some manner, though not as much as the burned-out eye sockets and - from the report he saw over someone's shoulder - the liquefied brains.

"Spencer," Vick's voice made him jump, "glad to see you."

Shawn smiled and nodded, and then cringed, putting a hand to his forehead as he feigned a painful vision. Vick's face paled; no matter how many times she had seen this it always scared her a little.

"ugggghh...muuugghhhh...they're screaming...gahh... they're all screaming..." he shook his head as if to dispell the vision. This would buy him time to investigate.

"I imagine the victims were screaming. Is that who you mean?"

"No, it was the spirits. After all of this... I might need a minute."

"Take the time you need. We're not going any faster. Some are saying that what did this was... supernatural," She dismissed it with a roll of her eyes, "but I'm sure there's some explanation." She said as she left to review another report.

_Supernatural, huh?_ He thought as he looked around for security cameras. _They've been reading too many of those books._ In the past year the book series Supernatural had become popular in the police department. Lassie would never admit it to anyone, but when Shawn was at his place for a case he noticed one of them crushed in with his other books. He hadn't been that interested himself; to him the mere notion of vampires and demons and other things was just ridiculous. Despite his cover as a psychic, he refused to believe in anything that couldn't be explained.

_These head-shot wounds could easily have been faked for a sort of sick joke. Woody and the others could find that out soon enough._ He inspected the wings charred into the floor and determined it was some sort of calling card. _A_s_ for the eyeball burning-_ His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed a tiny drop of a substance on a knife that one of the victims had been holding. Shawn knelt down to inspect it. It appeared to have similar properties to blood, but rather than crimson, it had the colour of a starless night.

* * *

Dean slammed the laptop shut as the surveillance video ended, his fury so obvious that Sam didn't dare complain. "Leviathans," he fumed. To Henry he looked like he could have killed something at that moment, which was probably accurate. "What the hell are the freaking LEVIATHANS still doing on the planet?!" His hands dug into the upholstery on the couch like it was the only thing keeping him sane - and it probably was.

"I thought when we killed Dick Roman-" started Sam

"-it would take out the rest." finished his brother as he clawed deeper into the couch.

"I don't want to sound out of the hunting loop here," said Henry, "but what exactly are the leviathans? I'm assuming that we aren't talking about the big fish Job was talking about. And what do they have to do with that dead business guy?"

The Winchesters started describing briefly about where they came from - Dean decided that Cas felt badly enough and left out his role in all of it. Then they went into their plan to dumb down and fatten up the human race, told him about Dick, their weakness, borax, the "bibings" and the one weapon that could kill them once and for all; the bone.

"So, you said that anyone following Dick would fall as well when you killed him, right?" asked Henry, and continued when they nodded in reply. "What about the ones that _didn't_ follow him?" The brothers exchanged looks while Cas tilted his head, holding his hands to stop their shaking. "What if the odd few chose to go their own way? From what you told me of how he punished failure it seems likely that at least one would walk. You say the bone killed him and his followers, but what of the others?"

A silence fell around the room as they considered the horrible idea. Yet they all had no choice to except one thing: that no matter what the reason, the damned leviathans were still alive and were still eating people.

"We need to get a look at that crime scene," the four agreed in unison.

* * *

"I'm sensing a strange substance... drug perhaps?" Shawn had begun his "psychic vision" routine for the others. "It's on a wallet? Taco? No... no its on a... knife! Yes, a silver blade which is over..." he stumbled in the direction of the body whose fist was clenched around the blade in question, "here!" he took a few more steps and led the officers behind him to the "black whatever" as he now called it.

Jules saw it first when she bent down to inspect it. "He's right, there's something on this knife. Look." She motioned for Vick and other officers. Lassiter, after a long argument with Vick on the phone, was allowed to join the case and had also come to see what Shawn's latest vision had revealed.

After making sure sufficient pictures had been taken, Lassiter picked up the knife with a kleenex, being careful not to disrupt the blood-like liquid, and dropped it in an evidence bag.

"Well hey, Lassie-dog, glad you could make it." Shawn beamed.

"Call me Lassie-dog one more time," he threatened.

"Okay, Lassie-dog." Shawn ignored the glare his friend was giving him. "Anyway, my watch says the peanut vendor will be here in five. Your loss if you miss out!" And by that Shawn meant that he was going to sneak off and check for surveillance from outside, since most of the cameras around the room had been blown out (if the deep cracks he could see were anything to go by). That and he also wanted to make sure Gus wasn't _still _puking in the trash bin.

Fortunately his friend seemed to have recovered, although he seemed to still be a bit stunned.

"Whoa, maybe we outta get you home, you don't look so good. Seriously, you will get pulled over if you drive like that."

"Shawn, did you see that car?"

Shawn furrowed his eyebrows. "You mean that sweet Mercedes in the guy's yard that's up for sale? Good man, that's a total babe magnet," he grinned.

"I meant the black Impala that just drove by."

"An Impala? Man I gotta get me one of them. You know how hot them things are these days?" he joked, smiling.

"The Winchesters drove a black Impala!" exclaimed Gus.

Shawn stopped smiling. The Winchesters' last kill streak before they reportedly died at a police station had taken many lives, as well as a member of the SBPD. The world might have forgotten Sam and Dean Winchester, but Shawn and most of the officers in the police department wouldn't.

"Stop freaking out. They're dead, remember?" said Shawn, mostly to reassure himself more than Gus.

"They've been dead before. I heard that they burned to death in a helicopter about five years ago but they came back-" Gus cut off mid-sentence and stared gravely at something on the other side of the street. "S-Shawn, it's still there." He pointed a shakey finger.

Shawn followed his gaze and gasped. A black Impala was parked on the other side of the street, and he could see four men inside. One he didn't recognize; a man with messy black hair and a trench coat. He couldn't make out the other man in the back for he was wearing a large, black hood that concealed his features.

Then the two in the front climbed out of the car, followed by the trench coat dude. Their faces made Shawn's blood run cold. One moose-man and one squirrel boy; these were the Winchesters alright.

"We need to go, Shawn. These Winchester guys were probably behind this whole thing! You need to tell Vick." Gus urged as he pulled on his friend's sleeve, but Shawn wouldn't budge. Finally he shook his head.

"The Winchesters always used guns and the same knife over and over. There wasn't a single bullet in that room and the knives weren't the same as the one they use. Besides, there weren't even any of those Satan circle thingys." It was only a rumour some of their crime scenes had this devil-worship stuff, but it likely had to be based from _something_.

"You mean a Devil's Trap?"

"Yeah, how'd ya know?"

"I read the books, Shawn." When Shawn remained silent he continued, "The Supernatural books. The first few came out just before these guys got famous. They must be some kind of psycho die-hards, especially having the same first names as in the books."

He thought for a moment. "Gus, get me as many of those books as you can. If the Winchesters _are_ linked to this case the clue will be in one of those. I'll tail them and find out more, and then I'll have more to tell the others."


	5. Chapter 5

"Dean, this has to be the most dumbass plan you have ever come up with. And you've come up with a lot of dumbass plans." Sam complained as they walked towards the crime scene where they may or may not get arrested on the spot. "You heard Henry, Shawn will definitely know us at first sight if someone else doesn't slap the cuffs on us first."

"Don't be such a baby, Samantha. We didn't have Cas on our side the last time we had to break out of prison. If anything goes wrong he can mojo us out."

"He's right, Sam. Although I no longer possess enough power to effectively and completely erase anyone's memories I can aid your escape should it be required." A few days before Henry found them at the hotel they group had been hunting a witch, who had put a spell on Castiel that weakened him for a time.

Sam ignored this. "It doesn't matter. If we were to come back from the dead _again,_ then the police would be after us _again_, which could seriously complicate hunts and get someone killed."

"Do you have a better plan?"

Sam sighed, defeated. "No."

Before they went in Cas excused himself, wanting to do a further search of the area for demonic/angelic activity.

They approached a tall, lanky officer with black, slightly curly hair. Dean flashed his FBI badge followed by Sam. "Morning, officer. I'm Agent Ryan Smith, this is my partner Mike Summers," he gestured to Sam. "We're here to take over the case."

The man snorted, "You think we're just going to hand it over to some guys who _claim_ to be FBI?"When they remained firmly silent he pulled out his phone. "I would like to speak with your boss and verify a few things." Dean reluctantly handed him a card with Garth's number on it. Since Bobby died he was the main man running the phones, though sometimes he would accidentally give it away by saying something stupid and they would get thrown in a cell.

It must have gone well, though, for Lanky-Dude handed back the card. "I'm Chief Detective Lassiter." He grudgingly shook Dean's hand. "Commissioner Vick is over there with our coroner, you'll want to talk to them." He then stalked off to another corner of the room.

"Rude," said Dean as he put his badge away.

Sam took look around, taking about all of five minutes to determine who had been human, demon, or angel when they died. He also determined that fifteen of the thirty-two victims had been killed by leviathans. _  
_

His search was interrupted as a young looking officer approached them carefully. "Excuse me," he said as Sam and Dean rounded on the officer. "This might sound random, but is the hunting good around here?" The brothers stared at him for a moment, then realized.

Dean looked around to make sure no one else was listening. "You're James?" he asked carefully.

He seemed relieved. "Yeah. Henry told me some "feds" would be coming to ask questions and that I was to come find you if I found out anything else."

Sam shifted toward him. "And you found something else?"

"A witness. She had come to town to see her cousin, and she was here to pick her up from work. "

"Yeah, and?"

"She came in to find her, she was working late you see, and she happened to overhear some of them talking. You know, those freaky things with the big teethy mouths. She said she dragged her cousin out and just ran. She wouldn't tell me much, just that she needed to talk to some guys that go by the name Winchester."

"That would be us." Dean said in a low voice after a hesitation. A police crime scene was a dangerous place to admit you're a Winchester, and he didn't want an eavesdropper.

He'd expected some kind of reaction that a normal person would give when finding out they were talking to two supposed psychos. James must have known the truth, however, or at least had an idea, because his expression didn't change. "I got her and her cousin a room - they'll be safe there, its a..._hunting_ lounge. She didn't want to talk to cops and I guess you see why." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "This is the address. Room 115." He accidentally dropped the paper before it made it to Dean's hand. A breeze from an open window blew it toward a a dark hallway. He ran after it and brought it back. "Here you go."

He nodded and took the paper as Sam asked "What's her name?"

"Jody Mills."

* * *

Shawn had come in through the back door, hoping to be unnoticed by the other officers. Perhaps there was a clue in the halls behind the empty silo where the murders had taken place. All of the security cameras that _didn't_ blow up had zilch, and he also needed to monitor the Winchesters' activities. He couldn't risk having his "vision" here; he wanted to wait until they were gone. It was weird how nobody noticed who they were. All anyone gave them were a few looks, like they had seen the two before but couldn't remember where, and a hard time, courtesy of Lassiter. He was sure that _someone_ would have realized. He also wondered if they got some sort of thrill of nearly getting themselves caught; last time they were publicly announcing where their next strike would be, and walking into a police crime scene was definitely not the sort of thing that was high on the list of smart things for serial killers to do.

He listened and waited, waited for something that would tell him were to go next. As he listened he locked on to James' voice talking to the Winchesters. At first it seemed legit; he was merely fooled like everyone else into thinking they were FBI. It soon became relevant though that he actually _knew _who they were.

_Holy pineapples, is James a dirty cop?_

He didn't have time to dwell on it because his father's name was mentioned. They had his father, what else could it be? Maybe that was him in the car, being held against his will, and being watched by the trenchcoat dude, who Shawn had noticed didn't enter with them. But no, he would easily escape even then. And then there was all this about hunting and "those freaky things with the big teethy mouths," which must have been code for something. James must be trying to reason with them quietly, that must be it. Shawn knew the guy well; he was ever the diplomat and there was no way he was actually in with these guys in any case.

A scrap of paper landed near his feet, written side up. On it was the address of the hotel the only surviving witness was staying at. Jody Mills, her name was. She was the sheriff of Sioux Falls. The reaction from the Winchesters indicated they knew her.

"Dude, she could have just called us, she's got the numbers for all of our phones." said Dean.

"She probably lost them when I ran over her phone." Despite the increasing seriousness of the situation Shawn was struggling not to laugh out loud. That did sound like something he would do, the poor klutz.

After a silence during which they were probably giving him the "seriously, dude?" glare they decided to get out of the joint and head to that hotel. Shawn made haste to the outside where he could circle back to the front and make the great reveal. After they were arrested and he got his dad back he could go back to his pineapple pie and enjoy himself while rubbing it in that Henry was wrong about the case being unsolvable.

He dramatically flung open the doors, going in to his "psychic" state, hamming it up the whole time. Fortunately James had left the room; if he saw this he could warn the Winchesters that they were about to have company. "Its big this time...oh man...really bad..."

He clutched his head in his hands as he threw himself at a wall. "They're looking for the witness..."

Lassiter straightened up. "Wait, what witness?"

"...ughh...gahh...Mills... Sheriff Mills...paper! Paper!"

Vick quickly took out here note pad and pen and put them in Shawn's hands. He scribbled the address of the hotel and room number and handed it back.

"You said they're looking for this sheriff. Who's 'they'?"

"THE WINCHESTERS!"

The room went silent; if it weren't for Shawn's over-dramatic heavy breathing one could hear a pin drop on the other side of the factory. A dawn of realization spread across their faces.

"Those FBI..."

"Oh my God they were _right here!"_

"I knew there was something weird about those guys."

While everyone was muttering angrily to themselves Shawn thought about exposing James, but decided against it. He didn't know what James' game was in all of this and he didn't want to jeopardize the chance of getting his dad back.

_Dad._

"They...they've got Dad! Dad's there, I can sense it. They've got him!"

This seemed to break through the haze and bring them back down to Earth. Vick started calling and assigning squad cars to surround the hotel and secure any exits - everything from back doors to windows to vents to sewers, while Lassie and Jules checked over their guns on the way to their squad car. Before Vick left she turned to Shawn.

"You had better be right about this."


	6. Chapter 6

The "hotel" resembled a large shack with a few beds more than it did a place of business. An out of the way, nameless establishment such as this made for the perfect hunting lounge, not drawing the attention of anyone else. A little fixing up and a few pictures of the Harvelles and it would be the Roadhouse reborn.

James said that once they were there they were to go to whoever was on front desk and ask about the hunting, just as he had done in the factory. When they ask what animal, the correct answer is "anything around town." He said that once they've done that they'll do a check for demon/monster (as if any could have gotten by the hidden Devil traps and avoid getting burned by the silver plating of the doorknob) and give them a key to Jody's room.

Sam decided to get acquainted with some of the other hunters while Dean and Cas got the key. Meanwhile, Henry started spreading the message to some of his old hunting buddies about the situation; the four of them had agreed on their way over that the hunters at the lounge should be notifed of the presence of the leviathans.

"Yeah, I heard about them things about a year ago. Apparently unstoppable but by a bone and bleach, how do you like that?" An elderly man in a wheelchair coughed as he rolled up behind Henry. Both of his legs had been paralysed much the same way Bobby's had been, when a hunt gone wrong in Wisconsin resulted in demonic possession.

"The bone doesn't even reload. Also, if you're too close when you finally do kill it, apparently you get a one-way ticket to Purgatory." Henry informed him and some others as he continued giving the low-down on the leviathans as he knew it. Meanwhile Dean got talking to the front desk man, an elderly in his seventies.

"So how has a place like this not caught the cops attention yet? Haven't they ever been brought here for like a drug bust or something?"

"Indeed," he pointed at Henry, "his son, that pretend psychic, brought the SBPD down on this place half a dozen times." He knocked behind the desk, making Dean jump. "We've had a lot of so-called 'murders' come in here for information for a hunt or something and the cops are on their asses. They could surround this place, sewers and all, but they'll never find you if you go through this tunnel back here. The weapons are all stored in a like place in the cellar, so they can't ever find nothing here but a creepy hotel and someone saying 'they been and gone here hours ago.'" He cackled, but the laughter died in a fit of smoker's cough. "Speaking of which, James called. Cop radio says we're to be preparing for heat. Be quick."

He gave Dean Jody's key as Dean cued for Cas, Sam and Henry to follow him upstairs.

After knocking, Dean opened the door to find Jody pouring window cleaner into squirt guns. She looked up and smiled. "I was wondering when you'd get here. Too bad James drove over my phone, I'd have called you."

She sat them down at some chairs and started explaining what she overheard, all the while loading squirt guns. "They were talking about some hideout, someplace near the Santa Barbara Hospital. I don't know how they've been feeding; bodies aren't going missing from the morgue, no torn up corpses, just the odd missing person. Whatever they were doing, they said it wasn't enough to satisfy fifteen, so I'm guessing that's how many we're dealing with here. Apparently they were going to arrange for a few of the workers to "go for a smoke break" and not come 's when I grabbed Rita and ran."

Sam nodded, stroking at his stubbled chin. "So the angels and demons there picked the wrong time and place to have their fight. We'd better move before they change their hideouts. Or leave town completely."

Dean looked like he had been about to say something, but sirens in the distance cut him off. Cas disappeared and reappeared a second later. "There is a large mass of police forces coming this way. I suggest we warn the other hunters and go through the tunnels the clerk had mentioned."

Dean nodded and the five of them, each armed with a squirt gun, made their way with all haste to the lobby.

"Hi, it's me again." Dean said hurriedly to the clerk. "The po-po's on the way, there's an arsenal of borax-loaded squirt guns upstairs, we need the tunnel."

The old man nodded and reached for a lever hidden in a false section of wall behind a picture of the hotel when it was new. _Finally,_ Dean thought to himself, _someone who doesn't hide it in a damn bookcase. _The wooden wall swung open to reveal a dark passage. "A ways down there'll be a torch. Take it. Once you've taken it, a lever pulls and a lock switches and then the tunnel can't be opened from here. Don't doddle, though; the torch is a ways down. At the second torch there is a classic carving 'Romeo + Juliet' in a heart. Push it. Another door will open for ten seconds before closin' up again. This way even if the first door is compromised you can lose anyone who tries to follow you in. You'll come out in a sewer system behind the town hall. The other way goes to the dump!" He laughed, which once again turned to coarse coughing. "Now go."

The group ducked into the passage as Dean muttered something about how 'awesome' the entire setup was while Sam whined about a stray nail putting a tear in his moose-fitted FBI getup. The door had just closed and the pictures barely straightened up when the front doors were thrown open.

* * *

Shawn came in behind Lassie and Jules, his eyes picking apart the room piece by piece. This was his seventh time at this god-forsaken dump and all he ever got from the old man was "they've been and gone ages ago. Mentioned heading to some joint a few towns over." Even _he_ couldn't get anywhere with that. It seemed that every time a fugitive came into this place they disappeared into thin air.

While Lassie was giving orders for positions Shawn took notice of all the creep-tastic decorations. Every time he came there were more sigils and old tomes and Devil's trap's everywhere.

_Devil's Traps._

No wonder the Winchesters seemed to like James' choice of locations. It was the hotel version of the Roadhouse that Gus told him about. Gus decided to just pick out the important parts for Shawn rather than Shawn having to read it. He knew he had a reason for keeping him around.

"Mr. Nelson," Jules addressed the old man at the front desk. "We have reason to believe two wanted men with an accomplice and a hostage has been here very recently. We would like to proceed to search the premises." She wasn't asking.

The old man simply nodded and went about his business as officers took their cues to search the rooms upstairs. Shawn decided to take a looksie around the lobby. So far nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary - well, at least as far as _this_ place goes, anyway. When Mr. Nelson went off to chat with some of the guests, whispering something about window cleaner (for goodness sake, really? Was there nothing better to talk about than _window cleaner_?) he glanced behind the desk and saw a small open cooler full of ice and soda cans. _Damn, those look so good right now._ After stealing one and leaving some change on the counter as payment, he noticed a random piece of cloth sticking out of the wall.

He knelt down and pulled out the black fabric with a tug. _Strange, this is from a suit. _He looked around. _No one is wearing a suit. Everyone here is wearing dirty leather and jeans. Maybe I should try out that look. My handsomeness would make a babe magnet out of that getup._

_Focus, man. How would anything get stuck that deep in a wall?_ Curious, he gave the wall a quiet yet firm knock. Solid. He moved his hand next to where the cloth was and knocked again. Not so solid.

_Alright, a secret passage! If this place wasn't so creepy it'd be cool! Now, the switch..._

He went through all the hiding places for secret passage levers that movies used. There was no bookcase, so that was out. Ducking under the desk didn't help either, but he did find a penny. None of the floor boards were used, so that was out. He racked his brain until... eureka! Pictures!

The only picture in the vicinity of the desk was one of the hotel about fifty years ago. How it went that long without being condemned was beyond him. He slid one finger behind the picture as casually and stealthy as possible. At first he found nothing, but soon his finger tip felt a difference in the wood, and a small crack. By diging his fingernail into the crack he discovered that it _opened,_ and his searching finger felt a button.

Quite pleased with himself, he replaced the wall and slurped his soda. Seconds later he "sensed" the hollowness of the wall.


	7. Chapter 7

Henry was feeling rather uneasy about this.

It wasn't because he was allied with two strange hunters and a freaking angel to take down the most powerful creatures that have ever roamed the Earth, although it was definitely something to be concerned over. No, he was uneasy about the fact that Shawn was about to charge head on into this situation without even beginning to understand it. And he knew now there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had always made a point of keeping him out of the hunter's life. The closest thing to hunting lessons he had ever done with Shawn was teaching him how to shoot a gun, which, he had made a point of saying, he always kept loaded with rock-salt bullets. What good was that going to do him against the leviathan race?

He was snapped out of his train of thought when he heard Shawn yelling from the entrance of the tunnel. He was having a "vision," meaning that he had discovered the tunnel. And they still hadn't found the torch.

"We need to hurry. If we don't find that torch within the next minute this tunnel will be flooded with officers."

"Duly noted," remarked Dean. "Look, a light. That's it."

Dean ran for it, but it was too late. Shawn had opened the passage door...and by the sounds of it fell down the slope. The clerk had not been kidding when he said it got steep quick. Luckily enough, Dean grabbed and lifted the torch before anyone else could enter. The door was resealed before Lassiter and Jules could shout Shawn's name, and they barely heard the commissioner's cry to freeze.

They ran back to help Shawn up. Other than a few scrapes (which Henry _knew_ he was going to whine about) he was fine. Physically, at least. Henry thought about how he was going to take this whole thing of working with the Winchesters. And then about his reaction to hunting.

This wasn't going to be good.

* * *

Shawn saw Henry first. To say he was relieved would be an understatement; when your father turns out to be ok after being held by freaking serial killers its freaking fantastic. He must have used the passage to escape or something.

His joy, however, was quickly turned to worry and anger when he saw who ran behind him. The Winchesters and the trench-coat dude. The weirdest part was that they did not seem to bothered by the fact that their hostage was free. Glancing at Henry's wrists, there wasn't even any sign of him being bound in the first place.

"What the _hell?!_" was all he could manage.

Henry took a long breath. "Son, there is a _very _long story behind all of this, one that maybe I should have told you a long time ago-"

"No." Sam cut him off. "You were right not to raise him like that."

"I could have at least made him aware."

Trench-coat man intervened. "Henry, if you had attempted an explanation your son would have either thought you had gone mad or followed your footsteps as a hunter. From what I have seen during my time on Earth is that there is never a middle ground."

"Cas, easy with the 'time-on-Earth' stuff. We gotta keep in mind he ain't in on all this shit."

Shawn had had enough. "All of you shut up." It had been a long time since he was truly angry, but this did it. He turned to his father. "Dad, you cannot seriously have anything to do with these guys. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHO THEY ARE? And what the hell is this 'hunting' crap? You're all acting like they do in that book series with all the drawings and hunts and whatever the crap else." Shawn tried to yell more but his throat had gone hoarse.

Henry opened his mouth pathetically to say something, anything, but nothing came out. How do you tell your kid about what's _really_ going bump in the night?

Sam was the one to break the silence. "Look Shawn, I get that you're a little freaked out right now. But, ugh, how do I say this..."

"What my brother is trying to say is that what happened down at the factory was not caused by anything human. Come on, the head-shot wounds that weren't fatal? The tattered bodies? The..." he glanced at Cas (his boyfriend? Both seemed to take a protective stance over the other in a gentle sort of manner) uncertainly, "angel wings burned in the floor? How would a human do all of that? Even if they could it would need an assload of time they didn't have."

Shawn was still giving them the "you are obviously bat-shit crazy" look when Jody stepped out from behind, having been concealed by the moose. "Look, I didn't believe it either. Until the day my son stepped out of the grave, I would have assumed that these guys" she gestured to the four men, "were nuts. But when your dead kid shows up at your doorstep and five days later _eats_ you husband you don't have a choice." A tear fell from her eye. Her left eye. She was being sincere about this - whatever _this_ was.

Henry took to staring at the floor. "And when your first girlfriend becomes vampire dinner...you don't have a choice there either."

First girlfriend. Yeah, he had mentioned Ellie once when he was teaching him to shoot. Murdered on the highway. Still, not one bit of this could be explained. Therefore, it was impossible. They must have simply misinterpreted what happened in the trauma and then... oh god, did his dad kill people thinking they were monsters?

"Ok, I know that look. You haven't believed a damn word we've said." grumbled an annoyed Dean. He half-turned to the others. "I think we all know there's only one way he's going to believe any of this."

"Wait wait wait. We are NOT getting him involved with this leviathan business. _I_ barely know what I'm doing beyond spray Windex and run like hell. He's never gotten involved with anything like this since he stumbled on that werewolf case a few years back." He paused to offer an explanation, but apparently decided against it.

Shawn opened his mouth to retort something about "you guys need to seek professional help" before Cas spoke up again. "I agree with Henry. It would be unwise to involve him in a case as urgent as this. I can already see that the leviathan cannot copy him nor control him, and therefore will attempt to destroy him as they sought to do with Kevin and Charlie." He paused. "But on the other hand if he were to go back to the police he would involve the police force, which would end in more bloodshed. If what has been said here can be proven it may buy his silence for a time, and restore trust in his father."

Without another word, he closed his eyes in concentration. Slowly, a light began to fill the tunnel. It seemed controlled, as if it was meant to be much more powerful than this. As Shawn watched in awe, two shadows appeared in the light, strongly resembling wings. Shawn could have easily chalked this all up to some special effect his it had not been for his eyes. They glowed a brilliant blue when they were once a simple ocean colour. If Shawn had finished that Coke he would have pissed himself.

The light receded and his eyes went back to normal. Sam and Dean were indeed awed, especially Dean, but it was clear they had seen it before. Jody and Henry clearly had not, though they were nowhere near as surprised as Shawn. The angel - what else could he be? - had been correct in saying it would buy his silence. For the first time in his life he could think of nothing to say.

"We need to find the next torch. The door will not last long." Even as he spoke Shawn could hear the team trying to break down the door. They might have about two minutes to get to this next torch, whatever that was supposed to mean.

The torch turned out to have been just around the bend. Beneath it was a heart carving bearing the names Romeo and Juliet. Cas and Dean reached for it at the same time, brushing each other's hands. If Shawn hadn't been so silently freaking out he would have snickered at the faint flush on Dean's cheeks. He also would have been loudly remarking how awesome this passage thing was when another hidden door opened. It closed once they were inside.

His daze must have been wearing off by that time, though, for he remembered the hair he found on his pie contraption in the office. Now that he thought about it Sam's hair was about that length.

"So... what were you two doing at Psych this morning?"

"It speaks. For a minute there I was afraid Cas traumatized you," chuckled Dean.

When Sam was done giving his brother a "I am so done with your crap" face he replied "Rumour had it that you were psychic. Thought we'd check it out, but apparently rumour had it wrong. We could see that as soon as we walked in."

"Not all great mystics have bat-caves covered in...mystic stuff."

"All the ones we've met did. Besides, sometimes psychics tend to piss off a few _things,_" Shawn noted the emphasis on _things_, "and pointing them to you with a big green sign isn't usually something a psychic would do if they wanted to be somewhat discreet. Then there's the fact that we overheard your dad saying there was something up with the case to which you replied with saying that there had to be a logical explanation. Psychics aren't logical. They're psychic."

Shawn rubbed at his eyes to try to dispel all of this. This was a dream, right? Ahh...it had to be. Maybe if he just pinched his arm hard enough he would wake up on the couch, having fallen asleep watching TV. Come on, after everything why would he be cool with he and his dad and this random sheriff walking down a dark tunnel with the Winchesters plus awkward trench-coat dude?

He paled. Cas. One could only dream of faces they saw before, and Shawn could remember every thing that ever happened to him. Ever. If he had seen this guy before, he would have remembered. Especially if he had been wearing that coat. Ew. It _so _did not match his shoes.

So it's not a dream. Monsters were real, and his dad had been hunting them since his first girlfriend died. And the Winchesters might not actually be serial killers.

For the second time in his life, he could think of nothing to say.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I'm back! My new place hasn't had internet all summer and I've only been able to get it at work but school started so my hours are cut down, so I was forced to go on a short hiatus. Updates will now take about every one or two weeks, depending on the workload and chapter length. But don't worry, it won't ever be discontinued. I hate leaving fanfics unfinished.

* * *

To say he was angry would be an understatement.

Lassiter had the Winchesters _right under his nose_ and they were still free. And now they had Shawn. Lovely.

The team had long ago broke down the tunnel door but found no trace of the Winchesters at the dump that it lead to. All they had done was take some accessories into custody for allowing them to use the escape route. He turned to Martin, a young man fresh from the academy, who had been pretty much standing there the entire time. "Hey, Marty, help me do a detailed search of this place. If it's got one tunnel it's got more, and I overheard someone mentioning an arsenal upstairs.

Marty didn't move; simply glared at the ceiling. Lassiter saw the Devil's trap drawing above him and sighed. "Alright, you've had your fun. If you want to be exorcised you'll have to run up the stairs while you help check for stashes."

He still didn't move. Lassie decided that he might as well give in. The kid _was_ a major fanboy of the Supernatural books. "_Christo!"_ he said in low voice to avoid being heard by anyone else. He smiled, just a bit. That was a little fun.

It stopped being fun, however, when "Marty" blinked and revealed coal black eyes with a blend of crimson. A grin adorned his face. Lassie froze. He blinked a few times, in case he imagined it, but the eyes were still there, the grin as sinister as it had been when it appeared. He looked around to see if anyone else saw. Jules and three other officers looked ready to piss themselves as they stared. No hallucination there.

"Hello, good officers." A Scottish accent came out of it's throat, even though Marty had never even been to Scotland. Several of the guests along with the clerk stood. It simply grinned and pulled out Marty's gun, and shot the rim of the circle. Then, with a flick of its hand, everyone found themselves thrown up against a wall.

"How rude of me, I didn't introduce myself. The name's Crowley, King of Hell, formerly King of the Crossroads, but let's stay with King of Hell. A little bird tells me that the Winchesters have been through here. Let's just say they have something of mine. Now let's get this over with and tell me where they are so I can collect the tablets and their corresponding prophet."

None of the police officers knew what to say, they just exchanged terrified looks. The hunters, however, were defiant in their silence.

Crowley sighed. "The thing I don't understand about humans is that they only shut their mouths when someone wants them to speak!" With a flick of his wrist he sent an officer flying into a wall at a twisted angle. His neck snapped with a sickened crack and his lifeless corpse slumped on the floor.

Mr. Nelson had had quite enough. "You know, for being the King of Hell, Crow, you'd have to be pretty damn stupid to be trying to kill the Winchesters now." Before Crowley could punish him for coming up with the nickname "Crow" he hastened. "The Winchesters and the angel they've got with them are hunting leviathan."

Lassie could see from the demon's change of expression that he was afraid of these "leviathan." Though he was pretty new to this (the books didn't mention a Crowley or leviathan) he knew enough that if something made the King of Hell uneasy, he should be terrified.

"Dean said," Crowley started, with a forced calm, "that killing the leader with that bone would bring down the entire race."

A hint of a smirk played across the old man's face. "Henry has a theory on that. Says these ones weren't in Dick Roman's hierarchy. It was a good day to be a rebel the day Dean gave Dick a one-way ticket to Purgatory."

"Wait a minute," Lassie started, "you don't mean Henry Spencer?" When he was met with silence, he asked "So does that mean Shawn's in on all this too?"

"Obviously not if he brought the police down on this place every time he 'sensed' someone fart."

Lassiter kept silent as he went through what he had learned. The Winchesters weren't the killers he thought they were, a freaking _demon_ was pinning the police force _and_ a skilled group of hunters against the walls, said demon was peeing his pants over some sea monsters (if they're talking that kind of leviathan), and Henry Spencer, exhibit number one of I'll-believe-it-when-I-see-it, had been a hunter all along. He suddenly thought of the Supernatural books. Was it possible that Dean Winchester was in fact the same Dean that Lilith sent to Hell? Maybe some psychic like Missouri wrote down their life story or something, though that doesn't explain how Dean got out of Hell. He didn't crawl out as a demon, or he would have been trapped under the Devil's Trap.

But one thing Lassiter _could _be certain of was, and he was sure Jules knew it too, was that Shawn was in much less danger than he was five minutes ago. And yet, at the same time, he was also in so much more.

* * *

Shawn mostly stayed quite for the walk through the tunnel, speaking only to ask his father the odd question about...that subject. Once they were out of the tunnel and Shawn's phone had service again, he saw that he had like a zillion texts from Gus asking where the heck he was. He replied that the brothers got away but he was close on their tails, and that he'd be back in time for the peanut vendor. He didn't dare say anything else.

They doubled back from the Town Hall sewers to the Impala, where five of the group squeezed themselves in. Cas just disappeared into thin air; Shawn figured that he could fly but that was just _fast._ No wonder Dean wouldn't let him zap them back to the car.

The ride to the motel was silent and awkward. Shawn didn't know what to say to Henry, Henry didn't know what to tell his son, and the others decided to stay out of it. Eventually it was Jody that broke the silence.

"So, Shawn, how did you find the tunnel? That thing was pretty discreet."

He grinned. "Psychic." He waved his hands through the air in an over-dramatic gesture of his sixth sense.

"No your not. Otherwise I think you would have sensed at least some of this crap."

_Good point._ "I was grabbing a soda from behind the desk and found a piece of cloth in the wall." He held up the scrap, not realizing until then that he was still holding it. "Then I knocked the wall, noticed it was hollow. I went through the cliché hiding places where one might find a switch and voilà, it was behind a picture frame. Took all of five minutes.

"Wow. No detective I know of in Sioux Falls could find something like that in five minutes just because they went for soda."

He chuckled, and saw Henry smiling with pride from the corner of his eye. For a long time he had resented the fact that his father had spent Shawn's whole childhood trying to morph him into a top detective. Now he knew that there were far worse ways to raise him. James once started ranting about how in the books John raised Sam and Dean as hunters for most of their lives.

_Sam and Dean...Winchester? Are these the same guys? Did some _real_ psychic write their life story or something? I guess it doesn't matter now._

Upon arriving at the motel, Sam and Dean moved to make borax-coated bullets, while Jody took to searching online for a boneyard that might have a righteous bone. Henry and Shawn were instructed to head to the nearest convenience store and get as much borax-based cleaner and squirt guns that they could carry, having abandoned the arsenal at the hunting lodge.

They went into the store and found it empty, while the clerk, who for some odd reason was wearing a suit, was reading a book. As they started cleaning off the shelves of window cleaner, the doors swung shut and shelves seemed to fall over by themselves. Too late did Henry notice the distinct smell of sulfur.

The clerk approached them now, blinking once to reveal black eyes with a blend of crimson.

"Hello, boys."


	9. Chapter 9

Shawn and his father stood frozen in the aisle as they stared at the demon's eyes. The demon Henry had dealt with in his hunting career had simple black eyes, none of this crimson blend. This one had to be one of the special ones. Like the King, maybe.

"Crowley," he guessed in a careful tone. His smile confirmed his assumption.

"Dude, wicked contacts, man. Where'd ya get 'em?" said Shawn.

"Hell." The demon replied coolly.

"Couldn't have just been wearing contacts, could ya? No, you had to be one of the freaky things." Shawn muttered under his breath.

"Anyway, let's get down to business. The name's Crowley, King of Hell, where's the Winchesters?" he said in an exhausted tone, as if he had given the same introduction and question a thousand times.

When the two men remained silent, Crowley rolled his eyes. "I'm here to call a truce until these pesky leviathan are sent back to the hole they came from. These walking-talking fish are a royal pain in my royal ass. Now, if you don't mind, make yourself useful and tell me where the Winchesters are so we can get this over with and I can go back to pursuing the Profit!"

Henry sighed. As much as he detested the thought of working with a demon, they did need his blood for the spell, and he didn't need to actually know Crowley to know that usually the King of Hell gets what the King of Hell wants.

"Motel across the street. The place is salted and devil-trapped down, I'll give them a heads up."

"What are you, their bloody secretary?"

After calling the Winchesters and letting them know they were to be expecting a royal visit, and over hearing Dean say something about Devil Trap rugs, he hung up and nodded to Crowley, who in turn vanished and did them the favour of not killing them.

Once he disappeared Henry threw a glance at his son. He wasn't shaking like he had been; all things considered he had taken the truth rather well.

As they finished loading boxes full of borax and squirt guns, Shawn asked "Was this why you guys got divorced?"

"Sorry?"

"I asked if you and Mom got divorced because of this."

Henry couldn't answer immediately. Though he had never actually told his ex-wife about his ex-life, there were a few times when she was asking the questions that brought her dangerously close to the knowledge. "Why do you have these strange books?" "What's with the salt?" "Where were you the last few days?" "Is that blood on your shirt?" One day she followed him when he was on a job and unknowingly came within three yards of a ravenous vampire. It was only because it started pursuing James that she was left unaware and unharmed.

"Yes" was all he could say.

"Did she know?"

Another silence.

"No."

* * *

"What do you mean you don't know where the Alpha is?" Crowley yelled as he was most likely wondering how he always managed to fall for the Devil's Trap under the rug.

"I mean that we don't know where he is. After Edgar tried to have him for a snack he gave us the blood, packed up shop, and went AWOL."

"Well, that's lovely. You know the arrangement. No blood from me until you get blood from Daddy Vamp.

Footsteps and the swing of the back door signalled Henry and Shawn's return.

"Honey, I'm home!" Shawn whooped as he made his entrance while Henry face-palmed. If there was one thing the supernatural could not change in Shawn was the rule "once a drama queen, always a drama queen." Shawn took the liberty to bring the borax and squirt guns to Jody's room.

"I heard you saying something about an Alpha. Which one?" asked Henry.

"The vampire one. Only one still alive. " answered Sam.

"No name?" yelled Shawn from across the hall as he started back into the room.

"He's ten thousand years old. If he had one he either didn't tell us or forgot it.

Henry paled visibly at this. Dean was startled by his change in expression. "What?"

Henry stumbled on his words. "It's just... I overheard some men at the lounge talking about this really old vampire. No name. Strong fellow, too. Well..." he hesitated, but was prompted into speech again as the other's leaned in closer, waiting. "They had just sent out a posse of twenty-five men to kill him."

Faces fell around the room. Cas and Dean simultaneously buried their faces in their hands while Sam massaged his temple, as if it would help come up with the solution.

Shawn, ironically enough, was the only one who came up with anything.

"Did they say where? You couldn't have been in there for much more than fifteen minutes. Maybe you can still catch up. Warn him or something. Halo-dude-"

"Cas" Dean corrected.

"Whoever he is, he'll probably have to fly us if we're going to make it." Henry was surprised to hear the "we" in his words. In less than an hour his son had already begun to think as a hunter. He wasn't sure he liked that. "Can you do that?" asked Shawn.

Cas nodded.

"Good. So, do we know where he is?"

Henry only shook his head. "No, they didn't say where, and I didn't think to ask."

"And I don't believe I am strong enough to make two trips."

"Heeeelllllllloooooo, demon here. If I wasn't stuck in this damned circle I could be of assistance." Crowley groaned from his corner of the room. The other's jumped; who knew how easy it could be to forget that the King of Hell was in the room with you.

"How long?" asked Cas carefully, who still didn't fully trust the demon.

"Calm down, you sound like a jealous wife. Long enough to find our vampire. Or his corpse."

Henry looked around at the other hunters. Sam nodded, which was his cue to break the circle with his knife. In an instant the demon was gone again. He appeared ten minutes later after everyone had packed up. Jody chose to stay behind; she didn't really have much experience when it came to vampires.

"Old mansion in Cambria. Their closing on the residence, half of his goons are already dead."

"I know it. I took out a ghost in there. The run-down one on the hill, right?"

Crowley nodded before disappearing.

"So, if we only need his blood, can't we just take it after he's dead?" asked Shawn, who was slightly disturbed at his new way of thinking. Most people would probably be rocking back and forth in corner somewhere, and here he was talking about draining a _vampire's_ blood from _his body. _Oh, the irony.

"No. The instructions say that the givers of blood must be alive to give the blood its power. If the Alpha dies his blood is useless." Dean answered, not noticing anything odd.

"Alrighty then. C'mon, Halo-man, let's fly!"

"Not you, son. You're not ready to deal with this. We're talking about an Alpha and skilled hunters. If we're going in there to save the father of all vampires they will likely turn on us."

"I think for once I'm going to take you up on that. Jody and I can run to the boneyard. We need a nun bone or something, right? That felt really weird to say."

"Yeah, you do that, son." _He actually listened to me. If some freak doesn't get me first I might die of shock._

"Well, Cas?" Dean turned to the angel.

"My powers have begun to return. I may be able to subdue the hunters if necessary."

"Awesome. Let's go." The three hunters put their hands on Castiel's arm, while Cas himself chose to clutch Dean's. In an instant they were inside an old-fashioned styled living room, though the couches were bloodstained and there was a vampire head on the floor. Henry needed a few minutes to shake away the dizziness from the trip. Flying with Angel-Airline was seriously overrated.

"Hey, I know them. Its them Winchester hunters!" A voice exclaimed from the kitchen entryway. The group turned to see two hunters standing. Sam and Dean recognized one of them: it was Roy, one of the hunters that killed them during the apocalypse. Well, Walt did the killing, Roy just watched. But if Roy was here, Walt probably was too, if he was still alive.

"What brings you here?" asked Roy, the anger in his voice apparent though he did his best to control it.

"The vampire. Where is he?" Dean asked in a similar manner.

"Why, so you can set him loose, too? You know that nowadays I'm looking up at the sky every May wondering what its gonna be this year? A thousand demons blocking out the sun? Another freaking apocalypse? Some fish getting some legs and having mankind for lunch?"

"Yeah, about that," started Sam, "We found a few leviathan survivors. The Alpha's blood is kinda the key of killing them. If the Alpha dies, his dead blood is useless and he's also the last one, so..."

Roy looked between the two of them, completely ignoring Henry. He noticed Cas and noted the trenchcoat. He never actually met the guy, but other hunters had said that the Winchesters went around with a trenchcoated angel on their shoulders, which was why they could not die. He knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere by shooting them as long as he was there.

"Alright. Truce for now. He's on the run in the woods. He's weak with dead man's blood, so the others are on his tail. We might have time."

"If we fly there I can't subdue the other hunters." Cas interjected. "The witch's spell still limits my powers more than I had realized. I can fight or fly, but not both."

"That's cool Cas. Just get us there, we'll handle the rest." Dean replied.

Cas nodded, and a moment later the group was landed in the forest in time to see Walt grab the father of all vampires by the shoulders.

* * *

If you were to ask Shawn before if he wanted to really be psychic, he would say yes. Now, he was wishing to every god that was ever thought up that he was. Then he would be able just walk in, find a righteous bone, and leave. But no, they had to search through a tomb of corpses, some of them were still gooey, and endure the stench of rot that floated on the hot, moist air of the cramped space. One would think a grave would be colder than this, but then one would also think a leviathan was a jst really big fish some guy talked about in the Bible.

"So, we can't just pick any nun bone?" he asked Jody.

"No, some nuns are not truly righteous. Sometimes they can become corrupted by politics. Dean also said not to pick young ones. They didn't have time to 'prove their righteousness' or something."

Shawn nodded in understanding. He stared at the names, seeing if any of them rang a bell. Eventually the name Sandra Reed caught his eye. About two years prior he skimmed a news paper clipping of a 42-year old nun dying in fire at house party somewhere. She was walking by on a church errand when she saw the flames. She could have easily stayed safely away, but insisted on getting the intoxicated inhabitants out of the house. She was able to save everyone in the building, but died catching a fiery beam before it could kill a teenage girl. He went to Google her on his phone (he was surprised that he had service in the grave. Like, really, what would dead people want with cell service, anyway?) and found nothing but her death certificate and he article. She definitely wasn't spoiled by politics. If that wasn't righteous enough, he thought he might as well give up.

The problem, of course, was that her body wouldn't be fully decomposed. Ew.

"Ok, Jody," he started after explaining who Sandra was, "let's rock-paper-scissors this."

Jody simply shrugged and held out her fist.

"Ok, I got mine. Rock paper scissors!" He had a rock.

Unfortunately for Shawn, Jody had a badge, which she indicated when she pulled her coat collar back to reveal it. "Now dig."

Shawn groaned as he picked up the shovel. Why did he always fall for the badge trick?

One thousand years later (though his watch said it had only been five minutes), he brought his hand out of the nun's slimy torso, triumphantly clutching a strong rib bone. He gagged at the stench; if it wasn't his hand he'd have to burn it and hurl it to the depths of the sea to get rid of the horrid odour of dead nun.

As they were leaving, however, the clatter of rocks indicated that they were not alone. At first Shawn though it was the cops, and immediately started planning how he was going to cute his way out of getting arrested. However, the two men that rounded the corner were not cops. Shawn turned to see that Jody's eyes turned to saucers while her jaw just hung open. She recognized them.

"L-l-l-" She didn't need to say it.

Leviathans.

* * *

"Walt, don't." Roy carefully urged his partner to release the Alpha. "We can't kill him. Not yet."

Walt glared from Roy to the Winchesters to Henry, then back again to Roy. "And why not? We hunt monsters, remember? Or have we taken the Winchester approach and started working together with them now?"

"Walt, you don't understand-"

"Yes, I do understand. We lost seven in this hunt. If we just say la-dee-da-da and let him go, we might as well have just killed them ourselves. I understand, Roy. Do you?"

"Walt, if he dies-"

"Then our fallen comrades are avenged. What's the harm in that?"

"Walt let me talk."

"Then talk."

"We need his blood for a spell. And a lot of it apparently."

"If that's all you need, then take it from his corpse." With that, Walt began to draw the machete across his captive's neck.

"STOP!"

"WALT NO!"

The Alpha's head hit the grass with a soft, yet deafening thud.


	10. Chapter 10

"Walt, you are high class dumbass, you know that? If you had just bothered to listen for five seconds you would have learned that we can't use the dead blood! YOU MORON!" Dean screamed at his former killer (if that's even a thing). "Now we have nothing to use against the leviathans. Just because there aren't that many left doesn't mean that they still can't take out a couple of cities, because beheading isn't exactly permanent, and _SOMEONE_ killed the Alpha even as we said 'no' 'stop' 'we need him alive.'

"Well _excuse me_ for not knowing what kind of blood you wanted. Better than starting the apocalypse, anyways!" retorted Walt, causing slight alarm for Henry.

"No one could have known that ganking a demon would let Satan out of his box." Dean bit back, glancing in concern toward Sam, who kept his gaze on the ground.

"Yes, of course, because when your brother's demon girlfriend says something will stop her daddy from jumping out of the Pit, you believe her because apparently demons don't lie anymore."

"ENOUGH!" Henry yelled. "Look, I don't know what any of you have to do with all the crap that went on 'bout three years ago, and I'm not sure I want to. But you seem to be forgetting that now that the bone is useless we should stop screaming at each other long enough to come up with another plan."

_Speaking of the bone, Shawn's taking a long time to find one from that tomb._ He glanced at his cell phone. Shawn hadn't left any messages nor had he tried to call. This would be normal for any other case, knowing Shawn as well as he did, and he would normally dismiss it.

But leviathans were loose in Santa Barbara. This was no ordinary case.

Shawn and Jody stared in shocked silence at the two men blocking the exit of the tomb, gaping as they opened their mouths to reveal layers of sharp teeth, intended for the ripping of warm flesh. Their ears rang with terror from their synchronised roar. One glance at Jody's face told Shawn she had seen this before, but all the same her fear was every bit as real as his. He searched frantically for a weapon. Nothing. The only thing that could be remotely considered as a weapon was the bone in his hand, and without having been washed in the "blood of the three fallen," it was useless.

But they didn't know that.

Behind his back he wiped the bone of as best as he could, then used it to slice hard into his left arm, and felt warm blood spilling down his skin. He used it to coat the bone. It may be useless, but it was a good bluff.

"Hold it right there." He held the bone threateningly in the faces of their attackers. They flinched; they knew what it was supposed to be. He carefully hid his bloody arm behind his back, pressing it to his shirt to stop to the bleeding. It wouldn't be long before they smelled what it really was; the rotting corpses in the tomb couldn't mask the smell of fresh human blood forever, but it would buy enough time to think of a plan.

Hopefully.

From the corner of his eye he could see Jody fingering her cell phone's keypad behind her back (Didn't James run over hers? Maybe she borrowed it.). Whoever she was calling would need to know where they were. "So tell me, what brings a pair of fish to the holy boneyard?" Not that specific, but there was only one nun cemetery in Santa Barbara that he could think of.

"I mean, I guess I should be asking what brings you to Santa Barbara, or, heck, the planet. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'd just like to know about the factory massacre. What do you get out of interrupting a gang war to kill of some innocent civilians, hmmm?" If Jody had called the police instead of his dad and the others, he would need to get them interested enough to get down here. All they would need is a few seconds as a distraction, and they could all escape. No one had to get hurt.

Nonetheless, he still prayed she called the Winchesters. While Lassie's face would be entertaining, he didn't want to have someone on this particular case that had no idea what they were doing. Heck, _he_ didn't know what he was doing.

"Not much of a hunter, are you?" The taller one clad in a red jacket chuckled.

"Meh, I make it up as I go. Now spill it." He sang as he waved the bone around. That was risky, he realized. Wafting the smell of human blood would only shorten his borrowed time.

"It doesn't matter what you do with that bone." snorted the short one. "Killing two will not stop us. You see, Dick had it all wrong. We are more powerful than he ever was. You think it matters that our numbers are lower now without him? Ha. Not for long."

_Not for long_ he had said. A bluff? He couldn't take the chance that it wasn't. He remembered with a start another point: they had said killing the two. The bone can't kill two, even if it was real. Were they really ignorant or just pretending? And how many bones could they make with one Alpha? If their numbers really were increasing, Shawn feared that draining one Alpha wouldn't be enough. Hopefully they could regenerate blood.

He faltered for a second while he thought, the bone coming down by a mere fraction of an inch. The tall one smirked a little, convinced he was winning, but it was the short one that finally got it. Sniffing his nose in the air, he scowled. "Hey Rob, smell that?"

"Rob" took a good whiff of the smell of Shawn's blood while said pseudo-psychic watched his plan fall apart before him. He had hoping they wouldn't notice it that soon.

The bone was useless, and now they knew it.

* * *

"Lassiter, have you heard from Shawn yet?" Gus asked as he followed the detective around while he paced up and down the hallway.

"Gus, Shawn might act like a child, but he is his own keeper. He's fine." He really didn't have time for Gus's questions. What was he going to say? "I think your best friend is with a pair of serial killers who may not really be serial killers but hunters of demons and monsters. Oh, and the King of Hell is out for their hides so Shawn may or may not be dead along with his father who is also a creature hunter." The day had already been crazy enough. Repeating it to try to make it seem rational was just insane.

"He missed the peanut vendor, Lassiter. The PEANUT VENDOR! And I had to throw out his pineapple pie because it was left out for the flies. The day Shawn lets anything pineapple-related _rot_ is the day Hell freezes over!"

"You know, the deepest parts of Hell are in fact frozen over. They say Lucifer burns hot but it's really quite the opposite." A Scottish accented man in a suit appeared from thin air behind Gus, causing him to jump a foot in the air. Lassiter didn't need him to flash his eyes - he _really_ did not need _that_, not today or ever - to know who it was.

"Crowley." He growled. The entire station froze around him; at least, everyone that had been at the hotel to meet him the first time. Vick was confused, but she had heard the whisperings in the station. She never thought she believed in the supernatural, but her blood ran cold upon hearing the name.

"Hello. What can I do ya for?" He paused. "Right, you didn't call, I came here. Whatever. Found the Winchester boys, thanks for asking" he remarked sarcastically.

"What do you want here, Crowley?" In his mind Lassiter began thinking of every possible way to get this guy under a Devil's Trap - but he found no solution that didn't get someone killed.

"A favour that is not a favour."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I want you to help exterminate what remains of the leviathan race once and for all. That's the favour. To do that you need to ally with the Winchesters. I hate the Winchesters. They stole my prophet and their angel screwed me over. So that's the not-a-favour. Did you get that, or should I write it down and shove it between your ears?"

"And if we don't?"

"Then you will receive a repeat performance of what happened at the hunting lodge, in addition to being eaten by the things you morons don't want to kill. See? The deal is of mutual benefit to us both and you don't even have to sell your soul and seal it with a kiss. Once in a lifetime offer if you ask me." Hardly anyone besides the Supernatural readers got that.

Vick stared at Lassiter in confusion and astonishment. "You are not seriously considering this." she said in low, firm voice. When Lassiter only shrugged, she added "Consorting with _serial killers_ and someone equally as crazy as them? Over a biblical sea whale? Are you out of your mind?"

"Anyone who was at the hotel today can tell you that we have no other choice." Even as he said it, he could see several officers trembling in terror. "Remember Officer Renly? The one that broke his neck at the hotel by supposedly _walking into a wall?_ He is what happens when you stand up to these things without weapons or a plan. We're not hunters, so we have neither."

Vick was about to retort that they were in _a police station_, where guns were plentiful and the plan was "shoot to stun and take in for questioning," when she could hear Jules faintly muttering behind her hand.

_Exorcizamus te  
omnis immundus spiritus  
omnis satanica potestas_

_That's part of an old exorcism. But why?_

She then noticed that "Crowley" looked a little uncomfortable. His eyes cut to Jules, who immediately stopped muttering. He sighed and flicked his hand. Jules found herself pinned against a pillar about three feet up, her faced twisted in pain and surprise. Gus, meanwhile, could only stand there, trying to convince himself that this was only a dream, that Shawn made him try some stupid combination of pineapple juice dumped in beans or something dumb and it was messing with his dreams.

"Let her go! We'll do it!" Lassiter yelled at the man that somehow held Jules against the pillar with no apparent force. He raised an eyebrow at Lassiter, who held his gaze. Then, another flick of the hand and Jules was slumped on the floor, out of breath and in shock, but otherwise unharmed. Vick was silent this time. Lassiter was right; without a weapon or a plan, they were out of options.

The demon smiled. "Alright, first things first."

* * *

Shawn and Jody found themselves once again staring into those many-layered mouths. Shawn found himself thinking back to James' description of them. _"The freaky things with the teethy mouths." _It didn't even come close.

Though Shawn's stroke of genius bought them time, it hadn't seemed to be enough. Whoever Jody had called behind her back either hadn't picked up or wasn't going to make it. He closed his eyes and silently prayed that they had pineapple in heaven.

No pineapple came, though, because when he opened his eyes he was still in the tomb. The screaming he heard was not his nor was it Jody's, but it was coming from their would-be predators.

"Aim for the eyes. That's where it will burn them the worst." Lassie? How did he know what to use? Nothing he could have heard over the phone could have told him to use borax, and the only hint of what he was even dealing with was a remark about a fish.

_If Lassie-dog is a hunter like Dad I am going to explode._

"Sheriff, Shawn, go!" Without further hesitation Shawn grabbed the bone and followed Jody out of the crypt. Gus was there, too, holding a squirt gun. He almost laughed at how terrifying it was that Gus, the guy who fainted at a nosebleed, could make a squirt gun look that dangerous. He and Jody grabbed some spares and started shooting.

Rob had been subdued enough to capture. James muttered what sounded like a spell to sap his strength. As long as the spell was being uttered, the creature would remain weak, so no one disturbed him. By the time the short one recovered everyone had packed into the cars along with their prisoner and escaped.

Shawn told the Winchesters to meet them at the hotel, which the police roped until further notice for "investigative reasons" and banned any media coverage. When Shawn asked Vick how they knew to use borax against them, she explained that Crowley had drafted them to take out the leviathan, or suffer the consequences. After explaining what they were, where they came from (Castiel? Dean never mentioned that) and their weaknesses, he sent them to the boneyard to take a prisoner in for questioning, using James' spell to weaken it. This turned out to be a rescue mission when they discovered Shawn and the sheriff were there, for it had been the station Jody had called after all. They had been just in time; Shawn's ploy with the bone had been the difference between life and death.

When they reached the hall, they found that the Impala was already there. Shawn saw their grim expressions as he entered the meeting room. They couldn't stop the hunters, and the Alpha was dead.

Their makeshift hunting meeting was being attended by half of the SBPD, most of whom were merely observing rather than participating, ten hunters from the hotel, as the rest were on a job, the Winchesters, Gus, an angel, a sheriff, and the Spencers.

"Are you sure that there is no other weapon we can make?" asked Vick as she turned to Dean Winchester, the irony of the situation not lost on her. "The bone was it?" His only reply was a grim nod.

Shawn bit his lip. "I know we aren't exactly prepared for more bad news, but here it is." A universal gulp spread across the room. "Jody and I aren't sure, but we think they might be increasing their numbers. James put his spell on a loop to go check it out."

"When we were in the tomb," Jody hastened to explain, "one of them was telling Shawn that they were gaining more members. It was when he thought Shawn was able to kill him, so it could have just been a bluff. He said that they were closer than Dick ever was. Do you think that Operation Global Human Farm is back on track?"

Sam shook his head. "I dunno. I don't even know what we can do about it - if they weren't bluffing, that is. Why increase the numbers, though? It means less food for every leviathan. "

"Perhaps he - the new leader, that is - is trying to obtain power. It's not like he can't kill them off again later." suggested Henry.

"How do they kill each other?" asked Lassiter. "Maybe there's another way after all."

"They eat each other. Or order them to eat themselves." Dean answered simply.

"So we can just cut them up?"

"A wood chipper couldn't cut them up enough. We tried."

The police took a moment to be disturbed by the comment, along with the conversation in general. Gus wasn't listening much; he was busy wondering about Shawn. On the outside it appeared that he was taking all of this in stride, even though it completely blew away his entire way of thinking. God knew what was going on in his head.

Jules, meanwhile, couldn't take her eyes off the man in the trenchcoat, who had been silent the entire meeting. His face was screaming guilt, and, after some pondering, it finally clicked as to why.

"You're Castiel, aren't you?" Everyone turned to follow her gaze. The man returned her stare for a moment, then nodded, and lowered his gaze to the floor.

Surprisingly, there was no anger or accusations pouring from the men and women around the room, as Cas had been expecting. The ones that had known were over it and had somehow forgiven him, and the ones that hadn't were too tired to bother being angry. Henry had already figured it out despite Dean's efforts to avoid saying it. He was a detective at one time; he had recognized the guilt on the angel's face the moment Dean first yelled about the leviathans.

Shawn thought for a moment, and carefully asked the question no one had expected. "You've proven you can take things out of Pigajury -"

"Purgatory." He corrected.

"Whatever. Well, is it possible to take just one thing out. Like an Alpha, for instance?"


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel glared at the seemingly foolish human known as Shawn Spencer. The ice that formed in his eyes reminded Dean with a jolt that this weird, dorky, little guy who held his fake FBI badge upside down was also a dauntless soldier of Heaven and was, for a couple of months, a god. "The last time I tried taking anything out of Purgatory it had been to stop Heaven's last archangel from restarting the Apocalypse and overthrowing Heaven, and you saw" his gaze darted to the Winchesters for half a second, the ice in his eyes melting into guilt, then turned back,"how that turned out. So tell me, why would I risk the Earth again for one vampire.

Dean's eyes perked at the mention of _vampire_. His gaze flitted between the pseudo-psychic and the angel. "You're geniuses! Both of you!" He simultaneously hugged them both. "We don't take something out of Purgatory, we bring it back!"

Cas and Shawn exchanged confused looks. Shawn worried for the elder Winchester's sanity.

"Dean, your not making any sense." said Sam.

"Yes I am. Cas, you gave me the idea when you mentioned vampire. Benny knew how to get out, maybe he knows how to get back in. Then we can just take our pick of Alphas."

"Slow down, Dean. I thought we weren't associated with Benny any more." Sam practically growled. Dean winced; he'd forgotten his brother's hatred for the vampire that he had carried out of Purgatory. He could see from Henry's growing tension that he wasn't liking it either, and who could blame him? A vampire was what got him hunting in the first place.

"Sam, it's not like he's been feeding. When he _does _have human blood he knocks over a blood bank. He hasn't killed since he's been back." A phone vibrated. Lanky-dude Lassiter checked his cell as Sam continued to get pissed.

"You don't know that."

"Sam-"

"Look," interrupted Lassiter, "I'm new in all of this, as well as pretty well the entire police station, so I don't really know about this 'Benny' deal, and I`m not sure that I care. But James just texted me and said that he has confirmed that there are at least forty-five leviathans hanging around the hospital. That`s forty-five as opposed to-"

"Fifteen," finished Jody.

"Exactly. They've tripled their numbers since the time of the factory massacre this morning. How?"

Dean said nothing, but went through his contacts until he found Kevin, and pressed call. He decided he could call Benny later.

"Hullo?" A tired voice answered.

"Hey, Kev."

"Hi Dean. Wazzup?" Kevin must have been staying up again with that demon tablet. He sounded beat.

"Kevin, do you remember reading anything thing in the Leviathan tablet about them being able to multiply? Like, on a scale of thirty a day?"

Rather than an answer, he heard someone swearing loudly on the other line. "What... do you mean... by leviathan?" Kevin huffed angrily.

"I mean that anyone who rebelled against Dick and lived apparently didn't get sent to Purgatory."

More swearing. Dean had not once thought Kevin's mouth was capable of such language.

"I vaguely remember a bit about three bloods. All it said was something about a 'river of holy and hell.' It didn't say anything about producing more of them."

Dean repeated this to the others. Before he hung up he told Kevin to get some shut-eye.

"The factory. Weren't some of the victims angels and demons?" asked Shawn.

"Yeah." Henry paused. "It must be ingredients for a spell or something. But what's this about a river?"

"Hang on." said Shawn. "You guys say they're hiding out around the hospital? Well, I remember when I was little I went down into a sewer in that area. There was a river there alright." He smirked. "The stench made me think I dropped into Hell and it stank to high heaven!" He was rewarded by unamused looks from Sam, Gus, and his father.

"I had meant to ask you what you were even doing in active sewer but then I realized that, being you, you dropped a dollar or something down it and went for it.

"How d'ya know?" asked a mockingly mystified Shawn. The truth had been that he dropped his _homework_ down the sewer.

"Getting on with the main issue," Gus started, "as alarming as this whole leviathan thing is, I think we should all find some rooms and get some sleep. Unlike some of you," he glanced to the hunters in the room, "most of us haven't been any farther than reading the Supernatural books as far as dealing with monsters go. If you hunters want to keep going all night, that's fine, but putting a squirt gun in our hands don't make us hunters. It makes us a bunch of idiots with squirt guns."

"I sense that Gus is right. My awesome spidey senses are telling me that we will need a few hours shut-eye before taking on Monsterland's Most Wanted with children's toys and Windex."

Eventually, the party sorted themselves into the few rooms in the hotel. Half of them ended up finding a "comfortable" spot on the lobby floor, but it was better than nothing. Shawn wrapped himself in a cocoon in his blanket, trying to find a comfy position on the floor mat.

He had been keeping up his calm-ish charade all day for the benefit of the others, but now that he was alone and darkness was closing over his mind, he allowed his inner terror to have full reign over him. The shaking came first; his body rattled uncontrollably as he recalled how the entire crypt seemed to vibrate with the sound of the roaring of the leviathans. He could vividly imagine those layers of sharp teeth tearing through his flesh, his ears rang with the sounds of his own screams ripping from his throat as the scent of blood burned in his nostrils. He was only imagining it, but behind his eyelids it was real enough to send beads of sweat across his trembling skin. Then, slowly as he drifted off to sleep, the shaking and sweating turned to numbness. By the time he had gone to face whatever nightmare lay ahead, he could feel nothing at all.

* * *

The next morning (more like about four hours later at 7 am) the party of police officers and hunters reloaded their squirt guns while Shawn, Lassiter, and Jules set to work examining maps of the sewers, trying to find the most inconspicuous place to enter this "river of holy and hell." Gus, meanwhile, remained comatose on his mat. Shawn couldn't blame him; he had been wondering how the poor guy had been able to keep from fainting for this long. If it weren't for the fact that he was supposed to be the psychic detective who was semi-cool with this stuff, he would have passed out too by now. _I wonder how James kept so cool after nearly becoming the dinner special for a vampire._

He gasped.

"Hey guys! Guys!" he yelled to get everyone's attention. "Have any of you seen James?"

No one answered because no one could.

James had gone to spy on the leviathans, and never returned.


	12. Chapter 12

"Dammit" cursed Dean. Their inside man didn't come back, which probably meant that he had become leviathan chow. Which also meant that they found out about the hunting posse camped out at the hotel and were making preparations to kill them all. Awesome. At least they wouldn't know about the plan to break into Purgatory.

"Well," said Henry, "if they've got James then we need to make our move. They are most likely aware of our presence, so we've already lost the element of surprise. Now we're losing time." He turned to Dean. "If we're going to Purgatory, now's the time."

Dean nodded in agreement. "I'll call Benny and see what he knows about breaking back in." He turned to his brother, ignoring his obvious disdain at involving Benny. "Sam, we still don't know who the leader of this band is. Maybe you can find out from our _guest_." He jerked his head in the direction of their make-shift holding cell for their leviathan prisoner. The spell stayed on a loop all night, so he remained too weak to escape.

Cas stood. "I will warn my brothers and sisters away from this city. If the leviathan are using the blood of angels and demons to multiply it would be unwise to allow them near the premises." He disappeared into thin air.

"Right then. Anyway, we need to decide who's going to Purgatory and how many."

"How many would you suggest?" The old clerk asked.

He though for a moment. "Benny and I did alright for a year before we found Cas. We can probably do it again if Benny decides to come with." He paused, then added "It's really bad over there. This ain't the Hunger Games, so no one should feel pressured to volunteer because trust me, you'd be walking into an absolute shitstorm."

There was a pause. Then Henry stood. "I'll go." Everyone rounded to the speaker, while Shawn just gaped at him.

Dean turned to him. "You're sure?"

"Yes. If your vampire doesn't want to come you'll need all the back-up you can get.

"I'll join you as well." Castiel reappeared beside Dean.

"Cas..."

"No arguments Dean. I know my way around in Purgatory just as well as you."

"Cas-"

"My powers have returned to full capacity. I will not be defenceless."

Dean was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But I'm throwing you through the portal first when we leave. Your sadly mistaken if you think I'm letting you stay behind in that hellhole."

The angel nodded.

Sam opened his mouth to say he was going too, but Cas intervened. "Sam, I believe you should stay here." Before Sam could argue he went on. "There needs to be hunters remaining in the city that have had experience fighting leviathan. Shawn has only faced them once and Jody may need assistance. And as Dean said, we still don't know the identity of the leader."

Cas knew that the sheriff and Henry's son could likely managed without Sam, and that someone else could interrogate the prisoner leviathan, but he learned a few things after being on Earth with the Winchesters. One was that when two people were feuding, they should not be purposely placed in a dangerous situation together. He gathered from what Dean had told him that Sam and Benny were not on good terms at the moment.

"Anyway, even without Benny, I think we have enough. But Henry I need to warn you." He turned to the ex-hunter. "Its not gonna be like a normal hunt. That place is full of ten thousand years worth of you name it. Are you sure you want to go?"

"Yes." He said firmly. "I've lived in this city a long time, and I'm not going to let it be ground zero for these hell-spawns.

"Dad," grinned Shawn. "Don't you mean 'Purgatory-spawns?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Sure. Why not?"

* * *

"Hey, Benny, how ya been doin', man?" Dean addressed his vampire friend.

"Oh, I've been doing great, brother. How's life on your end?"

"Not so awesome. You know how all of the leviathans are supposedly locked up in Purgatory?"

Silence.

"Yeah, long story short, we need to pen up a few strays. But because some _idiot" _he glared at Walt, "killed Daddy vamp, we need to break into Purgatory to bring him back so we can make that bone weapon I told you about."

"Well, then, brother, that's a mighty fine predicament you got goin on there. What do you need?"

"We need to open up a portal to go back to Purgatory." He glanced at Cas. He made a note to himself to make sure that the escape back door from Purgatory actually did work for angels before he brought one back there. Heaven might not intervene again.

After a long pause on the line, Benny chuckled. "Well, you brother are one crazy case, I've gotta hand it to ya. Let me know where we meet and I'll see what I can come up with. And Dean, brother, could ya bring me a drink? Deer blood's fine, but..."

"Yeah, don't worry 'bout it man. I'll text you the place. You _have_ figured out texting, right?"

"I'm getting there, but some kind of evil witchcraft keeps changing the words I punch in. Might be a hunt for you, man."

Dean laughed. "Later, man." He texted the address of a place just outside the city limits. The last thing he wanted was a massive swarm of hunters, lead by his brother, coming down on them for Benny's head.

"Alright. Now we need to find out from our captive who the leader is. He'll be the one to target."

"I'm on it." said Sam. He needed something to take his mind off the whole Benny thing.

While Dean took his leave, Shawn took to bugging Lassiter. "I'm not touching you." was one of the detective's greatest pet peeves, and therefore one of Shawn's favourite things to do. Tormenting Lassie reminded him of normal. He missed normal. He missed the time when he thought being truly normal was for losers. Lassiter must have been feeling similarly, because he wasn't actually too bothered this time, though he did repeatedly swat Shawn's hand away.

From the corner of his eye, Shawn could see his father packing a duffel bag of weapons. As the memory of him volunteering to go to the land of the boogie-man came to the surface, he quit bugging Lassie, the distraction no longer useful to him.

_What do you think you're doing Dad?_

* * *

A short, fat man fidgeted as he walked down the hallways of a hideout, his companion is not with him as he should have been. _The boss__ is not going to be happy about this. _He pondered what he would say himself. This new leader was nothing like Dick, but allowing his partner to be captured for information by nothing more than a spell and raggedy-assed team of law enforcement certainly wasn't going to earn him points, either. None of the police rescue team were even hunters.

Basically, he just lost his partner to a bunch of babies with squirt guns. _That _was certainly going to fly with the boss.

There was only one there that might have been a hunter, besides the two in the tomb; the wimpy looking guy who was muttering a spell to keep Rob weak while he dragged him away. The fact that he even knew a spell with that kind of power screamed hunter. This guy needed to be taken in. Someone who could paralyse one of them was to be considered even more dangerous than a Winchester.

A soft crash of water made him stop in his tracks. The hideout was underground and near a bad sewer system, so the sound of someone stepping in water in itself wasn't suspicious. What caught his attention now was that it _stopped._ The puddles were pretty big around here, so they didn't skip over it in one step, which meant they froze after making a noise. Why freeze after drawing attention to yourself if you were supposed to be there?

_A spy, or a paranoid stray. Who cares? It's food now._

He raced down the hall, eager to trap his supper. The poor human, he wasn't fast enough. He fell beneath Steven's weight as he pounced on him. Before he tore into his meal, however, he realized who it was. It was that hunter with the spell, the one which he began to mutter now.

Before weakness had a chance to overpower him, he ripped out the hunter's tongue and ate it, savouring its taste while the police officer screamed in pain. He hated him for letting all of that delicious blood spill from his mouth to the dirty floor. Oh well, he thought cheerfully, there was more of him. The boss only needed him alive for half a second. Surely he didn't need his hands.

More screaming rang through the sewers as Steven used his claws to slowly, very slowly, dismember each finger from his right hand followed by his left. He learned after taking his human form that causing injury to one's fingers could bring even the strongest of humans to their knees in white hot pain, so he carefully took his time as he ripped away each one. The bloody screams of the hunter flowed like a melody through his ears. Normally he would finish his victim off quickly; he didn't believe in torture at most times, that was one of the reasons why he rebelled against Dick in the first place, but Rob was his _friend_, and nobody kidnapped his friend without paying for it.

_Not so dangerous now, are you?_

He grinned as he dragged the terrified, mutilated man away to meet the boss, his prospects looking much brighter now that they too had a hostage. And this one didn't need to talk.


End file.
